Empty Inside
by Lola Witherbottoms
Summary: They didn’t know Drizzt’s most shameful secret, and his most quiet, desperate hope. What would they think when they found him in the morning, slumped over Entreri’s grave with a knife in hand? OOC, mild slash, oneshot.


Disclaimer: I don't own any recognizable characters, places, etc, nor do I own the song _Empty Inside_ by All That Remains.

* * *

_Emotions still touch me  
__Still I can't feel a thing  
__Like ghosts, they melt into the fog  
__And leave me cold  
_--All That Remains, _Empty Inside_

Drizzt Do'Urden sat on one of the many ledges on the mountain that housed Mithral Hall. The stars and moon were out, and the subtle breeze caused the treetops below to sway. Normally he would have found the quiet noise comforting, but no longer.

Sighing, he stood, wrapping his cloak around him to ward off the early autumn chill. Just a couple tendays ago he had been happy. His friends were all he needed. Now he found those same people stifling. They thought they understood his recent behavior, but he could never tell them. They would never be able to comprehend. They couldn't know.

He made his way down the sloping path, eyes on his feet the whole time. He felt so hollow, and only now did he understand the foolishness of his hopes. His hand went to his waist, touching the hilt of the small dagger sheathed there. The weapon he had used to kill Artemis Entreri.

Down the mountain, past the night guards, across the footbridge that traversed the Surbrin and connected Mithral Hall with the forest beyond. There, just past the first few rows of trees, was a small clearing. It was hidden from view, and for that, Drizzt was thankful. Nestled near the trunks of two thick trees was a small, simple grave. No marker, no flowers, nothing. No one had thought he deserved anything more than the pitiful ceremony and small, out-of-the-way plot he had received.

He sat at the foot of the grave, staring at the patch of dirt before him. Grass hadn't even begun to grow over it yet.

He had carried the body out here himself. He had insisted upon it. He had been the one to kill him, after all; it was only right. He knew that no one had felt the same sense of loss he did—they were just glad that they would never have to deal with him again. But they didn't know Drizzt's most shameful secret, and his most quiet, desperate hope.

He had loved him.

He had always sensed some semblance of honor, however deeply buried, in Artemis Entreri. A sense of right and wrong, and that was what drew Drizzt to the assassin and at the same time repulsed him. Because he knew Entreri suppressed that honor, denying it because he thought himself beyond it.

Drizzt hated himself for what he felt. It wasn't right—not because he loved another man, but because that man had spent his life as a cold-blooded killer. How could he love someone like that?

And so, he had reasoned, he had had no choice but to kill him, if only to silence the longing in his heart. But he had seen that final glimmer in Entreri's eyes as he bled out in his arms. They had made a brief connection, and the drow had realized his error.

He came here nearly every night, his mind conflicting with his heart. But now there was no hope of anything ever happening between them. Dead was dead. It had quickly become too much for him, unable to accept the fact that the man he both hated and loved no longer existed. The only thing that calmed him and brought him some sense of peace was coming out to the grave.

He lay down beside the mound of dirt, staring up at the stars. His heart thudded on in his chest, resilient and a little defiant as it anticipated what he was about to do. For so long, for so many years, he had gotten by on thinking that Entreri was somewhere out there, and odds were that he would never see him again, and that he would never be forced to do what he knew he had to do.

And then it had happened, and now he wasn't sure he could go on anymore. He heaved himself to his feet and wandered a short distance into the thicker trees. He quickly collected a handful of small wildflowers and returned to the gravesite to lay them down. They looked out of place, their bright colors too happy.

He pulled his knife from its sheath and stared at it. There was no reason to live anymore. He thought that once he had killed Artemis Entreri, he would be able to move beyond his torturous feelings for the man—but he hadn't counted on the failure of his plan. He felt nothing but despair anymore, and nothing anyone said or did made him feel any differently.

What would they think when they found him in the morning, slumped over Entreri's grave with a knife in hand?

He rested his chin on his knees, wishing there was a faster way. He gazed at the grave and managed a smile.

"See you soon," he whispered, sitting up and tightening his grip on the knife.


End file.
